The Witch Gets Amnesia
by Tdfgh1
Summary: During the haunted forest scene, the Witch gets hit in the head and loses her memory and hostile personality. Dorothy and her crew contemplate what to do while Scarecrow begins to fall for the Witch all over again.
1. Chapter 1

It was strangely warm in the Vinkus and Dorothy and Lion were getting eaten alive by what must have been the equivalent of mosquitoes. They had been walking though a forest if a mass of dead looking, black trees constituted a forest. It was rather creepy looking, the way the branches twisted and contorted around one another, looking almost like claws. After a while, they came to a sign.

"I'd - turn - back - if - I – were – you." read Lion who nodded in agreement and turned away but Tinman and Scarecrow held him back, shaking their heads. They walked a few more steps and were confronted by two dark owls that hooted with a creepy directness as if they were intentionally hooting at _them_. Dorothy took a closer look. They had _red_ eyes! Was it a disease? Lion shrieked and ran only to be lifted clear off the ground by his companions, his legs pedaling the air. They set him down, rolling their eyes, Dorothy as well. They should have just bought him vodka and let him loose. A drunken Lion must surely be courageous.

"I don't suppose there're any spooks around here?" said Scarecrow nonchalantly.

"That's ridiculous," scoffed Tinman. _"Spooks_. That's silly."

"D – Don't you believe in spooks?" said Lion, sounding like a child complaining about the monsters in their closet.

"No." replied Tinman. "Why would I – AH!"

Tinman suddenly whisked off his feet and thrust straight up above the treetops as if yanked by invisible strings tied to his head. He began to scream hysterically, waving his axe uselessly as he was suspended in mid air. They tilted their heads, watching the spectacle with raised brows, both in awe and trepidation at the spooks sudden resentment. Then out of the corner of her eye, Dorothy thought she detected movement and she turned to look. There was a sudden flash of green against the black bark of the trees and tall, indistinguishable shape shifting amongst the shadows. Dorothy felt her stomach sink and she yelled:

"IT'S THE WITCH!"

The Witch appeared around the corner of a tree and they all turned to face her except Lion who took one look at her and bolted into the trees, hollering bloody murderer.

"Aha! I got you now-" the Witch began when Tinman dropped from the sky and crashed almost on top of her. She jumped back, her eyes suddenly wide in surprise. "What the -" and was cut off as Tinman's axe came crashing down on her head, striking her with the top side of the blade with a loud, metallic _pang_. Dorothy, Scarecrow and Tinman watched helplessly as the Witch's body jerked at the impact and her eyes rolled back into her skull to expose the whites. Then she fell forward onto her face, unconscious.

They stood there for a moment at a loss.

"Well….." said Scarecrow after a while. "That was embarrassingly effective."

"Uh huh." said Dorothy, her voice rising with shock as she noticed red lines beginning to trail down the Witch's face. Turns out Witches _do_ bleed. She turned to Tinman. "You alright?" she asked to distract herself.

"Yep I'm – whoa what happened?" he exclaimed, sitting up and gaping at the body on the ground.

"You're axe fell on her." said Scarecrow bluntly.

"It _fell_ on her?"

"Quite hard actually."

"How the hell – oh." He got up surprisingly without any trouble and joined Dorothy and Scarecrow in their awkward befuddlement. Lion was still nowhere to be seen.

"Well the whole point of this trip was to eventually dispose of her." proposed Tinman.

"Nick Chopper that is just heartless." said Dorothy, slightly appalled that he could suggest killing someone so casually. Toto yapped in agreement. "I mean we can't just _kill _her."

"Well not kill her per say." replied Tinman. "I mean we could just….disable her or something."

"We'd better think of something fast before she wakes up." piped up Scarecrow, holding his pistol as nonchalant as ever.

"_Wakes up?_" said Dorothy, not meaning to sound patronizing. "She was hit in the head with an axe that dropped from the sky! I'm surprised her head hasn't completely split open!"

"So maybe we can just -" Tinman froze mid sentence and they all exchanged wide eyed expressions as a groan was sounded behind them. They turned around slowly in rising dread to see the Witch, painfully beginning to gain consciousness. She groaned again and rolled over onto her back, raising her hands to press against the sides of her bloody head.

"Owwww" she moaned, her eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. They watched her slowly sit up, leaning heavily on her arm. She squinted up at her surroundings for a moment like a confused drunkard before catching sight of them, making them freeze in fearful anticipation. And what came out of her mouth surprised them all.

"Who are you people?" asked the Witch.

* * *

**Soooooo what did ya think?**


	2. Chapter 2

For a moment Dorothy wasn't sure she had heard correctly but the confused look on the Witch's face seemed to confirm it.

"Um…" said Dorothy, not sure how to respond. Should she just answer the question? What would happen if she told the Witch…..well no, they couldn't tell her. That would be suicide. "Uh well I'm Dorothy." It felt weird introducing herself to her arch nemesis like they were co-workers at a cocktail party. "And this is Tinman and Scarecrow and…..well there was a Lion at one point but he's like run off somewhere."

"Oh okay." replied the Witch. "And…and who am I?"

_Oh shiiiiiiit! _thought Dorothy and she opened her mouth to speak but trailed off in a series of stutters. The Witch continued to gaze at her surroundings with more interest than confusion, looking at the dead, black trees, the dirt path and those freaky owls – or was it Owls? Dorothy had yet to learn physical distinctions. The Witch miraculously stood up, perhaps forgetting her head injury and brushed herself off before addressing the cautious, bewildered crew.

"Well this is kind of a shithole isn't it?" she said in an outrageously casual tone that didn't suit her _at all_. She turned to Dorothy. "Do you live here? Oh and if so, forgive me bluntness I…..well this really is a shithole." she scoffed, reducing the statement to a joke.

But Dorothy was speechless, not just because of their predicament but because the Witch was suddenly so _different. _Gone were the sneers, the raspy voiced threats and contorted, hunch backed, arthritic old lady posture she took while looming over her victims. It was as if the hit had fixed something in her brain, making her stand up straight, her stature taller, and more feminine if that was possible for a Wicked Witch. And her words, although spoken with same insensitive directness were more fluid, less sharp and with a hint of an accent. It sounded…sort of Spanish, the way she pronounced every letter in her words.

The Witch had changed to a completely different person in the span of five seconds. It was too much to comprehend.

"Uh…well we um….." she still couldn't formulate a response. Even Toto was speechless for once and stood by his mistress in silence, probably sensing something was amiss.

"Well we don't live here," said Scarecrow, stepping forward. "But uh….actually you do."

The Witch looked shocked or perhaps appalled. "_Really? _Why in hell would I do that?" there was blood dripping into her shirt. How does she not notice?

Scarecrow scoffed, taken aback and amused. "Well I always thought that would have been sort of a long story don't you think?" he grinned that horrible, playful grin and Dorothy had to suppress the expression forming on her face. She couldn't believe him – he was playing at the Witch! The _Wicked Witch of the West _of all daring, stupid things! Maybe he really was brainless.

The Witch stared at Scarecrow for a moment, her head cocked quizzically to the side in a shockingly youthful looking way.

"Do I know you?" she asked and Scarecrow seemed to freeze for a moment before deciding to shrug, the vaguest answer he could give. Before he could make the situation any more awkward, a sudden commotion could be heard from the underbrush and they all turned to face Lion, looking like an animal of an Animal, panting, stumbling and covered in mud, burrs and little green seeds that clung to his mane.

"Lion," said Dorothy, to prevent him from freaking out. "This is….um….." but she had no idea where she was going with this. Lion caught sight of the Witch, his eyes widened in panic.

"ARGHHH! BLOOD!" he screamed, pointing at the Witch's head.

"Blood?" asked the Witch, looking at them in confusion as no one answered. Then her eyes widened in realization and she reached up to wipe the warm liquid off the side of her head. She looked at her hand, the slimy, red fluid against the green of her palm. "What the hell - did you do this to me?" she suddenly asked, looking up at them, her eyes wide in disbelief and…..fear. The Witch was afraid of _them!_ Oh of all ironies!

"No, no, no." said Dorothy hurriedly as the Witch began to back away. "No it was an accident –"

"How can this be accident – did I fall off a ledge?"

Tinman stepped forward, trying for a friendly expression but failed. He looked like a godamned pedophile. "Actually it was sort of my fault –"

"Oh my god, you have an axe!"

"Uh yeah…" he glanced uselessly down at the weapon in disdain before looking up again. "But I - I really didn't –"

He stopped short, frozen like a deer in headlights as to everyone's amazement; the Witch charged at Tinman with a cry then flung herself at his waist, tackling him to the ground like a madwoman. It wasn't what Dorothy expected of a Witch and she stood there, recoiling, her eyes wide as the Witch rolled on top of Tinman, her eyes filled with a crazed, panicked look as she pinned him down by the neck, her fist raised.

Tinman managed to raise his hand. "Uh Miss, I really wouldn't recommend…"

The Witch smashed her fist into Tinman's face, sending his head sideways with a crunch, making Dorothy wince at the sound. The Witch didn't seem to notice it for she continued to pummel Tinman who lay there helplessly, his arms outstretched, practically motionless in an attempt to hold the Witch back without killing her as she killed her hand. Dorothy wanted to intervene – she should have intervened but couldn't bring herself to be so bold as to rush forward into the centre of all that commotion and haul the Witch away before she mashed her hand. But she kind of deserved it didn't she? She was the Wicked Witch of the West – she was evil!

_Was_ evil. What is evil anyway?

Scarecrow suddenly appeared in Dorothy's line of vision, striding forward with a calmness that was almost unfitting.

"C'mon Miss, lay off him." he said casually, grabbing the Witch's collar with both hands and yanking straight up, forcing her to jerk to a half standing position. She whirled, stumbling, her face venomous and her teeth gritted in a familiar hostile look that sent shivers up Dorothy's spine.

"Don't fucking touch me!" hollered the Witch, backing away unsteadily as the blow to her head began to take its toll.

"Wait!" exclaimed Dorothy. They couldn't have a famous criminal running lose all over the Vinkus, no matter how clueless. "Wait don't go!"

"What do you want with me?" her hand was shaking. It was probably broken.

"I…..well….."

"Are you working with the government? As an adept?"

"As a what?"

"I said a…" she trailed off, an expression of realization and loss forming on her face. Realization of her loss.

"We don't mean you any harm." said Scarecrow. "We'll take you home if you want."

The Witch seemed to be weighing her options, her mind naturally drawn towards worst case scenarios of being stalked by creepy, enchanted men-creatures, waking up in the middle of the night to find them lurking in the kitchen or…..or in the lobby if she lived in an apartment. But what would they be doing with a child?

She studied the faces of the crew, the charming Scarecrow, smiling reassuringly, the tick tock man with his brow raised, the bewildered Lion and the fretting child. They hardly seemed dangerous but she didn't even k now where she lived! What will happen to her? Something will have to happen. Where will she be two weeks from now?

"I don't know where I live." she said finally and bluntly as she could feel blood draining from her head, compromising her ability to think straight. She needed to get that fixed although it didn't hurt as much as she would have thought. She just felt floaty.

"Don't worry, we do." replied the Scarecrow.

"What –how?"

"You'll find out sooner or later." He grinned at her, making her uneasy. The child was scowling at him.

"How can I trust you with you talking in riddles like that?"

He shrugged. "I'm too brainless to make up riddles."

She was to trust a brainless, enchanted straw creature…that knew where she lived. Did she know him?

"It's seems I have no choice then." she said, defeated.

The Scarecrow motioned down the Yellow Brick Road and they began to walk, slowly as the Witch began to stagger, struggling to keep from fainting. She felt hammered and barely noticed when the towers of Kiamo Ko began to loom over the tree tops.

**Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

The Witch looked as if she might faint any second, stumbling over her feet, her eyes half closed and her head drooping forward like Hunk on a Monday morning. Dorothy stayed close to the Witch in spite of herself. The last thing they needed was for her to fall, hit her head, and forget everything again.

"Why are we helping -" began Lion and Dorothy rushed in to intervene before he gave everything away.

"BECAUSE….because she's…..she inhaled a spook while you were gone and got sick."

Lion looked at her, deadpan. "_What?"_

"I jus need to fix my 'ead." slurred the Witch, sounding like a drunken college girl…..what if that's what she is right now? The events and atrocities in her life are what corrupted her, shaping her mind into a bitter, cynical state which must have then lead to her becoming wicked. But since she had forgotten everything, she was no longer bitter and had just the right amount of cynicism; bringing her to the frame of mind she had when she was…..well she must have been a kid! In her twenties or maybe even younger!

Oh this is going to be fun, thought Dorothy, recoiling from inevitable images of the Witch's castle turned frat house, youngish business men and politicians playing beer pong in a dimly lit dining hall, dubstep blaring in the background, a flying monkey hiding behind a couch like a frightened cat while the Witch performs fiery party tricks on the kitchen table, an impish grin on her face as crumpled bills are flung at her –

Dorothy stopped herself there.

They were approaching the castle, an imposing, stone mass of wall like structures, pointy towers sticking up like toothpicks and a giant wooden entrance that looked modeled after a church front, making the whole thing even more unsettling than it already was, being the home of the Witch. They shuffled forward with the Witch in tow to the front where a boy stood like a teenage, poorly paid Mexican doorman, alert with his back straight and his hands clasped behind him.; the politest and therefore safest look he could give off. But he wasn't bad looking for a boy. He had spiky black hair, pale skin and the type of pudgy face that would be handsome once sharpened with age, wearing a black t shirt matched with navy cotton pants that just reached his ankles. He was probably one of the Witch's slaves.

Dorothy tried to look concerned rather than sheepish as the boy gasped audibly at the sight of them, his shocked expression almost comical.

"Holy terror, what did you do to her?"

"Thas exactly what I've been asking!" exclaimed the Witch, hanging off Scarecrow's shoulder. "An they won' tell me anything! They're like….like the government!"

The boy's jaw dropped. "Why do you have a Quadling accent?"

"I dunno." she replied, suddenly not in the mood to talk, her voice dropping drowsily. They ushered her into the lobby, cringing as the boy followed them, stuttering half formed demands for explanation, his voice rising then crackling. They dumped the Witch in a chair and turned to face the boy.

"It was an accident." said Dorothy, cutting him off. "We had no means to harm her."

"You were going to kill her!"

"Well…..we were debating – I mean we were against the idea."

"So what in hell did you do?" the boy was furious, Dorothy realized. Protective even. He couldn't be a slave.

"Uh well we were in the forest and um…" she glanced over the boy's shoulder at the Witch who was slumped sloppily in her seat, her head resting on Scarecrow's arm as he was standing beside her. She was out cold. "….the Witch accidently got clubbed in the head and now she doesn't know who she is so….yeah."

Dorothy knew she was being incredibly blunt but how else could she explain this? At least it gave her character.

The boy glared at her instead of looking shocked, his eyes narrowed as he seemed to loom over her with sudden superiority. Dorothy gulped with familiarity.

"It was more my fault than anyone else's." piped Tinman out of guilt, rubbing the nape of his neck in a sheepish gesture.

"What does it matter who's fault it i?" replied the boy in despair. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Are you an associate of the Witch's" Dorothy asked although she was sure it couldn't be. He was too young. And far too concerned.

"I'm her – "he stopped himself, unsure. "I'm a helper."

He was still too concerned to be a mere helper. Perhaps Dorothy would find out later but did she want to know?

"I think we should focus more on the Witch." said Scarecrow whose sleeve had been soaked through with red. "Instead of quarrelling over what's already happened." The only way that man was brainless was in believing he was brainless, thought Dorothy, once again in awe.

They helped the Witch over to a living room where they lay her down on a couch. None of them knew how to treat a head wound and a doctor was out the question but apparently there was another woman living here, an older one who knew of herbs and concoctions and such. A helper?

"Why didn't you say so sooner?" asked Scarecrow, slightly annoyed.

The boy shrugged the vaguest answer he could give. "I'm brainless I guess."


	4. Chapter 4

They had gone to the kitchen, leaving the half senile helper woman to watch over the Witch, who lay motionless on the couch like a comatose victim, legs dangling off the edge. Oh shit, what if she falls into a coma? What if her brain starts swelling and...and runs out of room in her skull? What even happens then? Dorothy was struck by images of grey, bloody slush, oozing from the Witch's ears and nose, and the Witch herself, yelling in panic and pain...

"What are going to tell the Witch when she wakes up?" asked Tinman, standing by the window, as he wiped the blood off his axe with a dishrag, a look of disgust on his face.

"Well I suppose...everything but the part about being the Wicked Witch of the West." said Scarecrow. "Just act like normal. So does anyone know anything about her?"

They all looked at each other.

"Well..." began Lion. "I heard she has an extra eye on her fore head that's kept hidden under her hat."

Dorothy said. "Okay that's a start. I think." she turned to the boy, Liir.

"She keeps to herself." he said. "I can't really imagine her having a...an extra eye, but you know, I never thought to ask."

"They say it's always awake." continued the Lion, in the tone of voice typically used to tell ghost stories to five year olds. "And that it can see everything and anything, even if it's miles away!"

"How poetic." muttered Scarecrow.

"It's messed up is what it is." said Dorothy. "Having an extra eye with binocular vision – how is that even biologically possible?"

"Biology doesn't really apply to her." replied Liir flatly. "She's _green_ after all."

"You know, I really wonder how that happened." continued Dorothy, leaning back in her chair. "Like how some kids are born with missing limbs because their mums smoked crack when they were pregnant."

"But can you imagine having a green child?" said Tinman. "Must have been heartbreaking for the parents."

"And the kid." replied Scarecrow. "It's no wonder she's a psychopath."

"But is she?" asked Dorothy. "I mean after that kind of blow to the head..."

They all turned to Liir, who squirmed uncomfortably, appearing to sink further into his seat, hunched over.

"I don't know." he said. "She was quiet for the most part, I barely knew her. You'll just have to wait till she wakes up I guess."

But she wasn't waking up. Day after day they waited, awkwardly shuffling around the castle, peering into the living room at the dead looking Wicked Witch, red beginning to show through the bandages around her head. Dorothy found herself assisting the Nanny in caring for her tormentor. Actually no, _caring _wasn't the word. It was more like a maintenance job; mixing herbs and potions (like a witch), ripping up old sheets to use as bandages, peering with horror and disgust from the doorway as Nanny sewed up the gaping gash the Witch's head, hands bloody as a surgeon's, tsking irritatedly as the Witch flinched and moaned. But otherwise, Dorothy tried to remain indifferent.

She was guilty and didn't like the feeling.


End file.
